


Our Side Yule: Transition

by harrietdowlinglovebot



Series: Our Side Yule Prompts [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Minor Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Subtle mentions of sex work, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Madame Tracy, Transition, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrietdowlinglovebot/pseuds/harrietdowlinglovebot
Summary: Little fic for the Our Side Yule Prompt "Transition"."She danced and sang with the crowd she felt the safest in, joining hands and screaming out loud to Christmas songs. She saw romances blossoming and comforting happening, as tears rolled down her cheeks. They caressed and cooed over her, wiping away her tears, as she realised the community she finally had."cw :// brief mention of injections, brief body changing mentions
Relationships: Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Series: Our Side Yule Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032417
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7
Collections: Make the Yuletide Gay 2020





	Our Side Yule: Transition

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoy this fic! I tried my hardest to pour as much love and research about gorgeous trans folk in the past. This is one of my favourite fics, even though I struggled (as an enby person who is learning to like femininity again).

Christmas meant the world to Madame Tracy. Not only did it match her glistening, glittery personality and outside, but it was also where it all started; the start of her true life. 

**The 1970s.**  
It began in a pub she had frequented it for a few years, sneaking in under the guise of a crowd– not that it had been that well monitored, anyway. She had mingled with other souls like hers, befriending them and falling head-over-heels for the people she spent time with. She had found two women, like her, who welcomed her with open arms, despite how much older than her they were. They called her by her true name and she soared above the clouds from hearing it on their lips. They listened to her woes and gave her advice on what was bothering her. They were there for her. That was when she had decided that she wanted to spend Christmas in that same pub.   
  
She walked into the smoke-filled room, pushing past the already inebriated folk surrounding her, to get herself a drink and find her friends. The pub had been decorated from top to bottom in tinsel, oblong ornaments, and candles. There were streamers strewn everywhere, as well, as the party continued throughout the night.   
  
She danced and sang with the crowd she felt the safest in, joining hands and screaming out loud to Christmas songs. She saw romances blossoming and comforting happening, as tears rolled down her cheeks. They caressed and cooed over her, wiping away her tears, as she realised the community she finally had.

 **The 1980s.**  
As the crackling music played through her record player, she tore at the wrapping paper of her gift from her parents. Her first dress. Trying it on in her small flat, gently running her fingers over her own body, feeling the soft velour against her body. Noticing how the deep sapphire of the material matched her eyes, which teared up as she finally pieced together the woman she always had known she was. The acceptance her parents gave her, watching her with pride and love, swelled within her heart. Her mother had bought her a matching pair of earrings and excitedly helped her style her ever-changing hair.   
  
It was a night that was forever embedded in her heart. Nothing would compare to dancing with her father to his favourite Christmas song as her mother dozed in the living-room chair, drunk off the brandy she was sipping.

 **The 1990s.**  
It was a few years into the 90s that she had finally bought herself a brassière. She had wrapped it up for herself, leaving it under her own Christmas tree from ‘Her Fairy Godmother’, and each time she passed it she smiled, knowingly.   
  
Finally, on Christmas Day, she ripped it open first, excited to see it again. It wasn’t fancy but it was pretty; it was all she could afford. But she didn’t care. She felt excited at the prospect of using one. The injection she was getting each month was metamorphosing her body into the beautiful woman she had always seen herself as. Each time she saw herself in the mirror, wearing her favourite dresses, tears brimmed as she felt overwhelmed with euphoria. Her skin softened and features rounded; she was becoming more of herself. The fulfilling journey continued, but her expectations exceeded more than she had expected. She moved into the bedroom and tried it on, forgetting all other gifts in favour of her own.

**The 2000s.**   
Over the years, she’d moved somewhere a little further from the city and set up her ‘businesses’ in the apartment she lived in. It had been decorated exactly to her liking, and she had even saved enough money to buy Christmas gifts for all the other tenants that lived in the same block as her. Particularly the Gentleman across the hall from her. It wasn’t much, it was a personalised pocket knife that she knew he would appreciate. It was neatly wrapped up and placed outside his door in the early hours of Christmas morning. She knocked on his door then left, set to make their morning tea.    
  
He was… Difficult, but there were times when he could be civil– perhaps more than civil; kind, even. Most never saw the way he left the empty plates outside her door, neatly positioned like soldiers in his Army. He even left little notes of thanks. Even though his name-calling was rude and uncalled for, she felt it was more like flirting than cruelty; his eyes were never filled with malice. His choice of names and insults were something else to the eccentric woman: she enjoyed them. The strength in her femininity– in her power– only grew with each seductress she had been compared to. To have such femininity be the focus was what the Madame had desired. They made her feel seductive, attractive, and, most of all, powerful. Her femininity and sexuality was a strength, not a weakness. 

** 2019 - Present Day. **   
A lot had happened that year. More than she thought would even be humanly possible. Despite the fact she had literally hosted the spirit of an Angel in her body, the most surprising thing was having her neighbour, Sergeant Douglas Shadwell, next to her by the fire. They had just put in an offer for a little bungalow outside of London, near Tadfield. It was quaint and isolated in the most wonderful of ways. They could easily head into the village and see the people they had gotten to know over the strange year. They sat, hand-in-hand, warmed together under a blanket after eating their Christmas dinner, listening to the drone of the old television in the background. The Witchfinder was dozing next to his partner, idly rubbing the ring on her left hand. The Madame looked down to their hands, the gold ring sparkling in the flickering lights of the tree decorations. To be able to accept the Witchfinder’s proposal was just as euphoric as being asked. It had been years since the law to marry had passed, but she didn’t think anyone would ask. Yet someone did. He knew of her, and all he seemed concerned with was how many nipples she had. She felt truly loved and seen. 

Christmas time was important to Madame Tracy. It was important to her transition. It was important to becoming Madame Tracy; Marjorie Potts. The journey never ends, but the path grows brighter and chromatic.

**Author's Note:**

> If there is a trigger-warning you think I have missed, please let me know! <3


End file.
